The Shadow in the North
by drogmir
Summary: It is the last few good years of Mirkwood, set in between the time of the Hobbit and the upcoming War of the Ring. Little do the denizens of the north realize that Sauron has set his sights on reclaiming the fortress of Dol Guldor. To that end he has sent 3 of the dreaded Nazgul to carry out his will. Is it possible to change the fate of the darkening of Mirkwood?
1. Year 2947 The Meeting At Rhosgobel

_It is the last few good years of Mirkwood, set in between the time of the Hobbit and the upcoming War of the Ring. Little do the denizens of the north realize that Sauron has set his sights on reclaiming the fortress of Dol Guldor. To that end he has sent 3 of the dreaded Nazgul to carry out his will._

 _However new faces have been seen in the region of southern Mirkwood. Attending a grand meeting of Woodmen in 2947 an unexpected representative from Gondor has arrived, signaling the Steward's interest in the growing power of men within the region. Accompanying him is an exiled Rider of Rohan, a Mirkwood Elf Warden representing king Thranduil's interest, and a wayward elf hunter of the woods. They would soon meet a lone hobbit accompanying the wizard Mithrandir and become embroiled within the fate of the region._

 _Is it possible to change the fate of the darkening of Mirkwood? Or will all fall to the inevitable shadow?_

(This is something of a fanfiction dramatization of an rpg game I run, of Cubicle7's the One Ring's "The Darkening of Mirkwood" adventure. Due to the rather epic 30 year scope, heavy Tolkien influence, and general unknown nature of what exactly happens to the Mirkwood between the Hobbit and the War of the Ring other than that it does not go well for the free peoples. I have decided to do some micro writing of my player's adventures within the region. These will be revised and written in short bursts to maintain my own interest and be kept for general notes on where a narrative might be going and such. Characterization will be lacking at first as I get a feel for my player's characters. At the very least it will help to improve my writing and storytelling skills.)

 _Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,_

 _Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,_

 _Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,_

 _One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne_

 _In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie._

 _One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,_

 _One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them,_

 _In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie._

It had taken many months for the Gondorian Ciron to arrive in the lands of Rhovanion on behalf of Steward Turgon. It had only been six years or so since word of the famed Battle of the Five Armies had reached the Gondorian court and Ciron was sent on his quest. The isolation from Gondor was an odd feeling, he was no longer among his own people. he had traveled north to make contact with these new Bardings of the kingdom of Dale. The importance of his journey was not lost on him, for they could be potential allies of Gondor in the coming days ahead. More than the Bardings though, he had heard rumors of a people known as the Woodmen who lived in the southern Mirkwood. Luck had graced him with the information that a meeting was soon to be called in Rhosgobel, the famed home of Radagast the Brown gathering many of these Woodmen. Although Steward Turgon had not directly ordered him to consult with these peoples of Mirkwood, it would be befitting of Ciron's position to at least evaluate this additional kingdom of men.

Ciron bared the famed white tree of Minas Tirith proudly on his heraldry. Its black and white colors clashing against the endless green of Rhovanion. He was a young man still, fair skinned with oaken hair. Trained in the art of war as many of his forefathers before him, yet unique in having traveled so far from Minas Tirith in order to protect it. Such thoughts weighed heavily on his mind each day of his travels northward, the legacy of his ancestors and what he would leave behind by his actions in this age.

"How do you fare Eobrand?" Ciron called out to the masked man. Ciron's could not tell if his words affected his traveling companion. For the rider's head was encased in an intricate metal helm of fluted steel. It betrayed none of his facial expression and his lack of words meant that he did not care to contribute further. He simply continued to ride his horse at a steady pace along the ever winding road.

Ciron sighed with discomfort but focused on the travels ahead and the impending difficulties on their journey ahead.

The roads leading into the Mirkwood were light and open, but seemed to be swallowed upon approaching the forest proper like a living maw. Ciron was cautious to travel in this unknown land on his own. Accompanying him was an odd companion indeed. A Rider of Rohan cast in his mail hauberk with a grim visage of his dark past, had accompanied him since their first encounter. The Rohirrim had said little about his presence or his past other than he was from Harrowdale; a dark place even for the stoic riders of Rohan. Ciron only knew him by the name of Eobrand. Although he made for rather miserable traveling company, the Gondorian dared not to chase him off. Many times he had been saved by the rider's skill with horse and blade. Even beyond that the rider was still an old familiar ally to Gondor despite his oddity at times. That if anything, at least guaranteed a place alongside Ciron's mission. The men of the south had come to forge an alliance with the men of the north.

The path to Rhosgobel was shrouded in the dark gloom of the forest. Its thick branches choking out the light's rays. They had met many wanderers on the path to the Woodmen meeting, many who had treated the pair with caution and suspicion. Circumstances had led them to a rather odd additional pairing in their travels to Rhosgobel once inside the Mirkwood proper. Two elves of Mirkwood, one a more traditional warden of the Silvan the other a wayward elf. Both opposites of each other and both suspicious of one another. Yet they traveled together on this shared path and both seemed equally curious of Ciron's purpose for coming so far north.

The Wayward elf Peregorn had mentioned something of seeing an ungainly creature unlike any she had seen on the edge of the Mirkwood forest and had come to the woodmen to gain further insight. While the elf of Mirkwood Algarwen, had been given explicit instructions from King Thranduil himself to attend the woodmen meeting to assess if there was any growing threat to their beloved realm.

They seemed to be of polite enough company and their presence on the road added something of an additional air of legitimacy to Ciron's presence at the woodmen meeting. Still these four had gathered together in unusual circumstances but little did they know in the coming years how much they would rely on one another in the fight against the shadow in the north.

A man as pale as a ghost came stumbling out of the woods on the way to Rhosgobel. Clutched against his chest he held a crumpled message. With yellow flecks of spittle spilling from he cheeks he wandered up to the group and pressed the message towards Algarwen before passing out.

Ciron checked the man's condition carefully drawing on his past skills as a healer within Gondor, "he's alive but he has been poisoned," Ciron carefully administered some herbs to the passed out man, "this should help with his recovery."

"No doubt, poisoned by the spiders of Mirkwood." Peregorn chimed, her sharp eyes observing the cobwebs that clung to the man's back.

Algarwen opened the crumpled message, it told tale of orcs moving into the Fenbridge an abandoned fortress near Dol Guldur.

"Do not touch our quarry!" a voice yelled out from the woods ahead.

The path was suddenly blocked by a group of six well armed woodmen of a particularly ragged and war ready company. Speaking for them a broad shouldered woman stepped forward, taking over her helmet to reveal her dark hair streaked with white, "I am Dagmar of the Tyrant's Hill. My lord Mogdred has need of that man." She pointed to the unconscious man.

"And what business would you have with him?" Algarwen asked with her fists clutching her bow tighter.

"This degenerate is Beran, we caught he attempting to steal from us but he fled into the woods and into trouble no doubt," She eyed Algarwen never breaking contact, "we mean to take him back to the Tyrant's Hill to have him pay for his crimes."

"This man needs proper medical attention and we are travelling to the folkmoot at Rhosgobel. If you have problems then you may address them there with your fellow Woodmen." Peregorn said.

Dagmar eyed Ciron carefully before nodding in agreement. "Then we shall accompany you to Rhosgobel and seek satisfaction."

During the night in camp, Algarwen had vanished for some time. Far more than what she had suggested what her usual patrol time. Suspiciously the members of the Tyrant's Hill had also vanished during the making of camp, preferring to stick to their own seperate camp. Peregorn had suggested that they assemble a search party and Ciron readily agreed.

Navigating the dark of Mirkwood was a near impossible task for a man of Gondor, but for an Elf who had lived there for near 200 years, it was second nature to Peregorn and soon the tracks to Algarwen were more than apparent.

They crept up on the camp of the Tyrant Hill Woodsmen and there they spotted Algarwen tied to a tree and being questioned by Dagmar.

"What did you read in that message Beran gave you! How much do you know!?"

Peregorn prepared her bow as Ciron and Eobrand got into fighting position. Ciron unfurled his massive great shield bearing the white tree, while Eobrand mounted his trusted palfrey and unsheathed his sword.

"RIDE TO RUIN!" Eobrand yelled as his horse swiftly rode into the camp taking the woodmen off guard. With a quick swing of his blade he skewered one of the woodmen with practiced precision and rode another one down.

Ciron moved up with his great shield protecting him as Dagmar turned around and charged with the woodsmen who were left.

Peregorn took careful aim with her bow and felled one of the charging woodsmen with a single well placed bow, as the rest crashed upon Ciron's shield.

Dagmar flanked around Ciron's front arc and hit him with a considerable amount of force with a blade, forcing the Gondorian back.

Meanwhile Algarwen using the distraction managed to free herself from her bonds. One of the woodsmen turned and noticed this, backing off from Ciron and charging her instead.

The woodman's axe buried itself deep into Algarwen's ribs with a shattering blow the moment she freed herself. When the woodman approach to finish her off, he was suddenly taken off his feet by a passing blow of the Rohirrim riding back into the fray.

Flanked by the rider and Algarwen retrieving her weapon, short work was made of the what woodmen remained. All were dead except for Dagmar. Algarwen in fury tied Dagmar to the tree she was recently herself tied to.

"How do we make her talk?" Algarwen said with malice in her heart.

"I know a way. That makes even orcs tongues loose." Ciron smiled wickedly, his heart hardened by the endless plight of his country.

Eobrand raised his blade in anticipation savoring the lust of battle of bloodshed, as blood still glistened on it. A man of Harrowdale was expected to give and take no quarter.

Paragorn looked at them with horror, at the clear darkness they had let into their hearts during the struggle of battle. For while defending themselves was one thing, active cruelty even for a greater good was a sign of degeneration and the encroaching shadow.

She walked over to Dagmar, and cut her bonds. "Go." she said stiffly.

Dagmar's eyes lit up with hatred but behind that understanding at the events unfolding. She picked a path and ran deeper into the Mirkwood leaving the company behind.

Eobrand's palfrey whinnied as if he was to pursue, but Algarwen held her hand up to stop him. The madness of vengeance had passed temporarily and there was no point to ride down their unarmed foe. The Rider's eyes still shone with passion and when she gazed over to the Gondorian she saw the same look within Ciron's eye. The weakness of men.

Algarwen felt shame wash over her and she avoided the burning gaze of Peregorn. "Come," she said, "let us return to the path."

Approaching Rhosgobel an expected but unfamiliar face was there to greet them. Clad in brown and having an appearance of a wizened old man, Radagast the Brown greeted every visitor to his home. The new, the old, the expected, or the unwanted, they were all equally welcomed to the folk-moot.

Fellow woodmen had come to take Beran in. He was lifted from Eobrand's palfrey and taken inside.

Meanwhile, Algarwen handed the note from Beran into Radagast's hands. He looked at the message for a moment with a consternation of concern passing over his face before snapping back to a grin. He pressed the message back to Algarwen, "I wish we had more time." his voice echoed with sadness tinging every syllable.

He spoke nothing further than that and motioned for the company to follow him in.

The last of the good years had finally come to pass and the shadow had once again returned to the Mirkwood.

Notes for the year:  
The winter was spent building a small cottage at Rhosgobel as a sanctuary. The Woodmen were impressed with the fortitude of Eobrand's singular undertaking that they helped to assist him. Creating a small inn sized building by the end of the year.

Cirion, Eobrand, and Algarwen attacked the Woodmen of the Tyrant Hill violently after Algarwen was kidnapped. They left one alive after threatening to torture him and riding down some of their fellows that had escape. Bad blood will be caused by their reckless actions. Peregorn protested their overly violent actions as one encouraging the corruption of the shadow to overtake them and unfitting of their roles.


	2. Year 2948 The Decision at the Folk Moot

It was a normal day like any other in the Shire. The sun was shining, the trees swayed in the wind, and the ever rolling green continued in peace. The familiar and often dreaded pointed grey hat of a certain wizard seen in Hobbiton was often the sign of great and unwanted adventures in the region. Where nothing of the sort was approved and no self-respecting hobbit would be see consulting with such odd fellows of dubious character.

Caradoc Brandybuck attended to his everyday chores like any other day. Maintaining his little hobbit hole in hobbiton is studious precision if only cause nothing else would fill the time of day. Plates were properly cleaned and stacked. The larder was regularly well maintained and even Caradoc's little collection of nicknacks was dusted from time to time during days like this. It wasn't that Caradoc didn't have friends of course, but more of Caradoc had always been somewhat free spirited and aloof with his dealings of other people, even fellow hobbits. Although he did have fine relations with his extended family, like with Leofric next door. A fine lad but one one Caradoc wanted to spend extended time with. Then of course one day Caradoc Brandybuck heard an unexpected knock at his door.

"Hello?" Caradoc asked while gently opening his door with the slightest gap to peer at his visitor.

"Hello to you." A aged voiced replied with some spirit.

Caradoc stared ahead at the waistline of a grey robed man. He tilted his head up towards the man's face with some caution like one would look at the sun in mid day.

"Can... can I help you?" Caradoc asked with some trepidation.

"Well, that remains to be seen." Replied the man with a wry smile. Almost betraying an all too familiar routine.

Caradoc felt oh so slightly disturbed by the man's erratic behavior. No doubt the old man leaned on such of large walking stick due to his frazzled nerves and empty mind.

"How can I um... help you mister?"

"Mister? I have not walked countless years in Middle Earth to be called Mister young master Bradybuck!"

"Oh, d...de...dear... What should I address you as then sir?"

"Hmm" the old man calmed himself, "Gandalf will do just fine thank you."

Caradoc's ears peaked with recognition at the name and the terrible danger he was now in.

"Oh... oh no... not the Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey?"

"Yes, for Gandalf is... well... me."

"The same Gandalf who abducted Bilbo Baggins just six years ago?"

"Oh..." Gandalf's expression turned to curious concern as his face puckered, "I wouldn't call it an abduction... I just helped him out of the door a little."

"NO SIR!" Caradoc's face suddenly turned a beet red. "I DO NOT WANT IT!"

"Want what young master Brandybuck?"

"I DON'T KNOW AND I DO NOT CARE TO KNOW! BUT I DO NOT WANT ANY OF IT! NOW GOOD DAY SIR!"

Caradoc immediately retreated into his hobbit hole with a great slam of his oak door.

Gandalf peered through the rounded windows of Caradoc's home only to be met with the closing of blinds.

"Go bother my cousin Leofric next door if you must! Boy could use the fresh air, just leave me alone!" Caradoc's voice muffled voice said.

Gandalf retreated from the home of Caradoc with an audible "hmph" and moved onto to next hobbit home but a few short strides down the path next door.

A meticulously laid out herb garden was laid out in front of this home and an oak door of a similar manner laid before him.

Gandalf carefully angle his staff and knocked it against the wood door.

"C... C... Coming! Is that you cousin Caradoc?" Leofric's voice was of a light tone that reflected his rather overly polite demeanor.

The door opened to reveal a rather young hobbit with soft brown curls and large blue eyes that betrayed an intrinsic natural curiosity found in all hobbits.

"Oh... Oh my..." Leofric sheepishly said as his eyes glanced away almost in embarrassment.

"You must be Leofric Brandybuck. Your cousin next door has told me much about you. Very, very much indeed..." Gandalf tapped his staff against the cobblestone steps that led up to Leofric's door.

"Oh that's awfully nice of cousin Caradoc to mention me. He didn't have to do that, I know how much he values his time."

"Ahem," Gandalf raised his hand stopping Leofric before he go could on any further, "I am here to see you young master Brandybuck."

"M..Me...?"

"Yes, you. I am looking for something of a traveling companion and your cousin has given me a good word that you may be just who I am looking for to share in an adventure?"

Gandalf titled his pale blue hat at Leofric's direction in a knowing manner.

"Oh... an adventure?" Leofric's eyes lit up as soon as the words passed Gandalf's lips.

Gandalf smiled in recognition, "to trade a walking stick instead for a sword and to see what lies beyond the hills of the shire?"

"Oh ye..." Leofric paused, "oh I couldn't mister, I have so many responsibilities here. I mean no one is around to look after the garden and cousin Caradoc too. There's just so much to do, I really would love to." Leofric's mind seem to be drifting away as he mumbled a list of half excuses.

"Hmmph," Gandalf stroked his beard. "I have decided. It will be good for you and doubly amusing for Radagast."

"Who is that sir?"

"Do not worry yourself. Now pack your things, I will ensure that your garden and cousin are well taken care of along with any other concerns."

"R... really?" Leofric beemed a smile.

"Yes, yes. Now hurry up and pack. We are wasting precious daylight for an experience you won't soon forget master hobbit."

"Well... well if everything is taken care of. Then I suppose a quick little adventure wouldn't hurt at all! What do I call you sir?"

"You may call me Gandalf young master hobbit. Gandalf the Grey..."

The folk moot of the Woodmen was set to begin that spring, they only waited for key members to arrive. Radagast the Brown had made it clear he was expecting Gandalf the Grey to visit and observe the events with a keen eye. What he was not expecting was for Gandalf to bring a Hobbit from the Shire and to place his extended care to Radagast's and the company that had made its home with Radagast over the previous year.

"I must leave you for a time Leofric, my cousin Radagast will keep an eye out for you." the parting was rather unexpected but not surprising considering the patterned history of the Grey Pilgrim.

The winter had been a surprisingly easy one that previous year, strangers from all over the Mirkwood and beyond seemed to make their home close to the Woodmen that year.

Eobrand had established a small inn where far travelers could gather in the shade of Rhosgobel. Many of the Woodmen did not yet trust these outsiders and few came to visit, but the ones who did found curious company and tales from outside their realms that only men of the far south could provide. Deeper understanding too could be gleamed from their mysterious elven compatriots Algarwen and Peregorn who would deem the inn worthy to visit on occasion during the off season. Although these elves would often be the only ones seen visiting of their people and even though only on some occasion as some great event spirited them away to the woodland realm more often than not.

However for the season's meeting only Ciron, Peregorn, and Eobrand were present to meet Leofric at the Folk moot of the Woodmen.

Ingomer wisest leader of the most prominent Woodmen village hosted the folk moot that year and every visitor he would personally greet, espousing tolerance even for their unexpected far flung guests. An outsider's view of events offers a unique gift of perspective that no invested Woodmen could claim.

"Friends, family, and honored foreign guests," he announced, "we gather here today because the fate of our people is changing. New times befall us all and with it great change to the Mirkwood that concerns everyone gathered here." Ingomer's voice swelled with pride, "yet I feel that the time of the Mirkwood may soon end with the combined efforts of all men, elves, dwarfs, and all free peoples of Middle Earth. The Greenwood will return with our efforts."

Caewin the "generous" had representatives of his eastern settlement talk around the crowd, distributing fresh fruit on golden trays before he entered the center of the circle.

"My fellow kin!" he began, "long have your people dwelled here in the shadow of the Mirkwood. We are recent arrivals to the area known as the East Bight and have come bearing the gifts of our labors there. There is blood shared between us however distant and so we have come asking to be admitted as one of you. To recognize us as fellow woodmen and kin."

"We are not so easily swayed by physical trinkets, Caewin." Ingomer objected.

"I mean no disrespect, only that we wish to share our prosperity with our neighbors so that we may grow stronger together."

"A fool's paltry gift and a fool's price!" a deep scathing voice emerged from the back from a tall dark figure clad in black armor. Surrounding the figure were accompanying armed men of the Tyrant's Hill.

"Who are you, to be so bold as to treat with us?" Ingomer said, undaunted by the figure.

The figure stepped down from his horse and stepped into the circle his imposing presence shadowing Caewin. Flanking the figure were two of the Tyrant's Hill men carrying large sacks.

"I am known as Mogdred. Years ago your son was presumed lost to the shadow of Dol Galdur. Your scouts were both right and wrong." the figure took off his enclosed blacken helmet to reveal a fair face.

Gasps were heard from the crowd as the physical resemblance to Ingomer was undeniable.

"I was tortured in the dungeons of that place for many a year until I took what power I could scavenge and survived. The Tyrant's Hill are my people and in some ways they are your people too..." Mogdred shot a look of contempt towards Caewin.

"Where Caewin would offer you but trinkets of the land for his entrance into the Woodmen tribes. I would offer you something more tangible."

He signaled to his two followers to emptied the sacks into the circle. Countless severed orc heads came tumbling out of them onto the dirt ground.

"This is what I offer! For years my people, my kind have bled for yours fighting in the shadow of Dol Galdur!" Mogdred slammed his fist against his chest.

"For this insult and others, I demand that tribute be made and I swear in return we will protect your villages from far worse."

The crowd nearly erupted into chaos, only the silent raised hand of Ingomer kept them steady.

"We will consider your request." Ingomer's flat tone betrayed none of his thoughts. It had almost seemed like Mogdred's presence was not even a surprise to him.

"You sir, are a coward!" Ciron suddenly yelled from the sidelines as he stepped forward. "A true friend of the Woodman would not make such ungainly demands. Long have my people of Gondor spilled its blood holding back the tainted land of Mordor. Yet even we do not make such demands from our allies as you would."

Mogdred sneered with a dismissive glare, "you would let a foreigner speak on your behalf? You are weaker than I first thought. Begone with such rabble!"

Ciron moved closer towards the circle ready to draw his weapon, until Peregorn grasped his shoulder stopping him, "you are not from the Wilderland, this is not for you to decide. They must reject him on their own terms."

Ciron's expression of rage played across his face as he relented.

Peregorn began to hum a soft Elven tune that seemed to put everyone at ease and tensions simmered down from the escalation.

"We have a saying in the Shire." Leofric suddenly pipped up, "If you have a bad house guest, it's better to make them leave sooner rather than later."

The crowd began to murmur in agreement.

"I see that your villagers now take advice from foreigners and half wits. No wonder the time of the Woodmen grow perilous." Mogdred said as he placed his helmet back on.

"I'm afraid... my son" Ingomer said, "we cannot accept your terms."

"Then we are enemies. A foolish choice father," Mogdred mounted his horse and signaled for his troops to leave "for the Black Tarn has far more enemies than you know..."

When Mogdred left the folk-moot was left with dead silence. Everyone present was unsure if the right decision had been made, but the results were now clear. The Woodmen village of Black Tarn and all associated with the Woodmen would now be considered enemies of the men of the Tyrant's Hill.

Even Radagast the Brown offered no words of succor.

"I fear for the fate of all men here should Mogdred not be crushed now." Ciron mumbled.

"I fear for all the Mirkwood that such evil still lies within the heart of all men." Peregorn replied.

A follow up vote was quickly taken in favor of accepting Caewin's people to the Woodmen and expanding the Woodmen's holdings to the west.

Notes for the year:

Mogdred was made an enemy of the Woodmen

Caewin and Amaleoda's proposals for the integration of the East Bight and expansion of the Black Tarn's lake settlement are accepted.

Algarwen returned to the northern Woodland realm of the Mirkwood Forest to handle personal family business, whilst planning on returning the following season.


End file.
